Author Biography

      First off I'd better tell you that Josh Stafford is a pseudonym. I was born in what was then Rhodesia, on November 30, 1960, grew up on a ranch in Southern Matabeleland, and did all the things that most Rhodesian kids did at that time. I went to boarding school - four different boarding schools, in fact, starting off at St Christopher's in Gwanda, sixty miles from the ranch, then Milton Junior in Bulawayo, one hundred and fifty miles from home, then Milton Senior for a year, again in Bulawayo, and finally to St Andrew's College in Grahamstown, South Africa, 1,500 miles by road from the ranch I called home. Yes, a three day train journey from Messina, South Africa.
       After matriculating in 1978, I was called up to serve my country in the British South Africa Police, which was transitioned to the Zimbabwe Republic Police after independence in 1980. I left in 1982, having served my three years, and ending up as one of the youngest Section Officers in the force at the time. I enjoyed my time in the police; by the time I left I had my own station, Sibankwazi, up on the Zambezi River , just above Devil's Gorge. After that it was back to the ranch and finally down to South Africa to learn how to program a computer.
       Armed with a diploma in COBOL Programming , I moved to Cape Town, worked with the Cape Town City Council for a couple of years, then moved to Namibia to work with Rössing Uranium Limited, again as a programmer. Two years later I was heading back to Cape Town, this time to find a wife. Yes, I had to find a job, too, and BP kindly offered me employment, also in the computing field. I've often wondered why I went to Namibia, and looking back on it I realise that God called me - I gave my life to Him during those two years and was baptized in the sea off Swakopmund.
       I met Bridget at a church group called 121 and finally plucked up the courage to ask her out. She accepted, and, totally besotted with her, nine days later I asked her to marry me. She agreed and on January 13, 1990, she walked down the aisle to say "I do". Two years and ten months later she gave birth to a healthy son, Stafford, and in early 1993, following the massacre at the St James Church in Kenilworth, Cape Town, I started looking at emigrating - I had gone through the Rhodesian Bush War, and I wasn't about to go through another one.
       God, however, had other plans for me. First I was told that I didn't have enough points to get into Canada. That was a bit of a shock. Bridget was quite relieved, though, because we couldn't really afford to emigrate. Then, through a series of unanticipated events, things started happening - I found out that I had made a mistake on my papers and we did have enough points to get into Canada. Financially we were in a far better position that we were a year previously, and I was offered a job in Flin Flon, Manitoba, Canada. This was actually pretty good for me - my cousin had moved to Thompson, Manitoba, eighteen months previously. Thompson is four hours drive from Flin Flon - and in Northern Canada, that's right next door. Everything seemed to be falling into place so nicely - Bridget and I felt that we were supposed to move.
       Then, in the middle of February I heard that I had I had to go to Harare, Zimbabwe, to be interviewed by the Canadian Secret Service, and I had to go the next week. This was a bit of a show-stopper - we were supposed to leave Cape Town three weeks later. I had paid for our airfares, our furniture that had to be moved, and had little in the bank that wasn't earmarked for something. All of a sudden I had to find R3,000 to fly to Zimbabwe. But it is amazing how God works the little details out… I sat in my office after getting the phone call, feeling as though I had been kicked in the head, wondering what God was playing at.
       Peter Atkins, one of our Technical Architects, put his head round my door and asked what the matter was. I explained that I had to find R3,000 and go to Zimbabwe in three days time. "Frankly, Peter," I told him, "I don't know if the company will give me leave during my notice period. "
       Peter, also a great Christian man, grinned. "That's fantastic!" he told me. "I was just coming to ask if you could go up to Zimbabwe on business for us next week. We've got some work to do with the operation up there…" Oh yeah? And who says God isn't in control? It just so happened that my wife's cousin was also going up there to propose to his girlfriend, so we travelled together, and her parents put me up at their house, which was far better than any hotel.
       We landed in Winnipeg, Manitoba, on March 10, 1995 and drove up to Flin Flon a week later. Something drew us to First Baptist Church, I'm a Baptist and always will be, but this little church was struggling. They had gone through a massive split six months previously, and when Bridget, Stafford, and I walked into the service, we increased the numbers by 30%. Yes, it was that bad. But we felt God wanted us to stay, and by the time we left two years later we had a full-time pastor and an average attendance of between 50 and 75 people.
       Our younger son Joshua, was born in Flin Flon, a real Canuck. OK, you guessed it - that's why I chose Josh Stafford as my pseudonym… Josh is my younger son, Stafford is the elder.
       On the last Sunday before moving to Spruce Grove, near Edmonton, Alberta, I commented to one of the men that I still didn't know why God took us there, but added that we had grown as Christians, and that we'd been "blessed because we came".
       He looked at me strangely. "We never told you because we didn't want to influence your decisions," he told me, "but we were ready to close down the church before you came. We prayed that if God would send one more couple to join the church, we'd know that we had to keep it open. "
       Boy, talk about being hit by a ton of bricks! God brought us all the way from Cape Town, South Africa, just to keep a church open! We felt humbled by the grace of God. Today we worship at South Abbotsford MennoniteChurch in Abbotsford, British Columbia. I work with a fantastic telecommunications company doing what I love as much as writing: doing data architecture work. We think there was a reason God brought us here too: something to do with a young Chinese girl who was once an orphan. Yes, in 2006, God granted us another wish - a healthy toddler from Jiangxi province who we named Rebecca is now part of our family.
       So why did I write the book? Well, I've always wanted to write, but never thought I was good enough. I wrote a ghost story for CBC Radio in Edmonton in 2000, winning first prize in the competition, and Bridget suggested that I sit down and write a story. So, at the beginning of January, 2003, I sat down and wrote 'Where Vultures Roost'. By March I was finished and started looking round for a publisher. Trying to find a publisher is probably the most demoralizing experience that a first time writer must endure. I sent of dozens of letters, e-mails, you name it, asking if I could send the agent or publisher a portion of my manuscript for review. The answer was always the same - in the negative, some polite, others not so polite.
       One agent's web page looked hopeful. She would charge an editing fee. Fine, my manuscript needed editing. I'd pay to have it edited. She said that she majored in English and was very particular about what she sent out. That looked promising. She said that most of her clients were new, and that she gave first time authors a break. This was just what I needed! I penned her a very nice e-mail, asking permission to send her a portion of my manuscript. I would pay her for her time, naturally. I asked a couple of colleagues to read my e-mail before I sent it out. They thought it was very professional. I received a reply one week later. Just one word: 'sorry' . Nothing else. No 'Dear Mr…', no 'Thank you for considering my agency… ' Just one word… 'sorry'. It wasn't even capitalized and there wasn't a period at the end of the sentence. It was spelled correctly, though. I guess she edited it.
       Then, through a newsgroup I belong to, I heard about Publish America. I asked them if they were prepared to review my manuscript and they jumped at it. The rest, as they say, is history. I'm about to be a published author. If you are looking to get something of yours published, contact them. They're a great family to be adopted into.